


out of my mouth and over my tongue

by hunted



Series: Trans Hank Anderson [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Non-Binary, Alternate Universe - Trans, Anal Sex, Androids, BDSM, Bears, Body Hair, Body Modification, Bottom Connor, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Hank Anderson, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Choking, Consensual Kink, Consent Play, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom Trans Man, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Trans Man, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Presentation, Leather Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Masculine Trans Man, Name-Calling, Negotiated kink, Non-Binary Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Not Beta Read, Ownership, Pain Kink, Pet Names, Polar Bear Hank Anderson, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Power Play (Lieutenant), Power Play (Sir), Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Robotics, Roleplay, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Science Fiction, Self-Lubrication, Sex Club, Showers, Size Kink, Slapping, Spanking, Technology, They/Them Pronouns for Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Top Hank Anderson, Top Trans Man, Trans Bear, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Hank Anderson, Trans Male Character, Twink/Bear, Twinks, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, ain't nobody got time for that, because apparently he has zero control over them, but not FTM Connor because I don't really get that headcanon, but then again my work literally never is, either way non-binary Connor works better for me, from chapter 3 onwards anyway, the author lets the characters do whatever the fuck they want, unless you suppose Connor was originally a female-presenting android
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunted/pseuds/hunted
Summary: Hank held the handle of a leash, leather wrapped around twice around his calloused knuckles. The leash was attached to a collar, which sat so attractively against the smooth throat of his pretty companion.He walked through the crowds with his chin tilted arrogantly upwards, his jaw set, grinning proudly.His boy was the prettiest of the bunch......Hank and Connor, post-canon, going to a sex club and having some fun. Later, exploring deeper questions around identity and gender; questions that evolve and enrich their relationship. Trans porn written by a trans author. No feminising language is used, and trans!Hank retains his canon personality. Title taken fromNaughty Boy.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Trans Hank Anderson [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611034
Comments: 24
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BIGHANK (piano_fire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piano_fire/gifts).



> The idea to write this fic came initially from watching [Bear Nation (2010)](https://youtu.be/rzUO1WqEaFY), most of which was an amazing portrait of gay bears, aside from a few outdated comments. Also, as a trans dude who identifies with the bear community, I don’t see much representation that reflects my experiences; so I thought it’d be dope to portray Hank, a canonically hairy and masculine character, as a trans bear!  
> .  
> .  
> I'm not opposed to writing feminine FTM headcanons, it just so happens that masculine portrayals of trans men come much easier to me, and I've noticed an abundance of feminine FTM headcanons on AO3 as opposed to masculine/dominant ones. Maybe someday I'll write a feminine FTM headcanon, but in the meantime, I'm happy exploring trans!Hank and keeping him similar to canon ♡ And I know a lot of guys appreciate seeing diversity among FTM fics.  
> .  
> .  
> The terms "strap on" and "pegging" make me super [dysphoric](https://www.healthdirect.gov.au/gender-dysphoria) because of the broadly female connotations associated with them... So Hank does use a prosthetic in this fic, but I refer to it as just being a cock, like I do with my irl silicone cocks. I figure that, in this sci fi setting, technology is advanced enough that I can blur the lines between bio and constructed anatomy. My dysphoria isn't a judgement on anyone who uses those terms, though! It's a personal thing I can't control, not a mandate for how others should speak in their fics/spaces, lol. Everybody's dysphoria is different.  
> .  
> .  
> I include choking in this fic, but you should be aware that choking is [potentially deadly](https://shesaid.com/6-things-need-know-erotic-asphyxiation/), and should be practiced with extreme care, following [BDSM rules](http://bdsmwiki.info/BDSM_101). Hank and Connor engage in some BDSM play throughout this fic, where Connor pretends to be reluctant, but his consent is constantly emphasised. It is always apparent that he is safe. For more information on etiquette in leather clubs, see [this article](https://www.advocate.com/arts-entertainment/2017/11/09/35-dos-and-donts-gay-leather-bar#media-gallery-media-1). The same author also wrote an awesome article about being fucked by trans men, as a cis gay guy, which you can read [here](https://www.advocate.com/sexy-beast/2018/8/08/16-things-i-learned-having-sex-trans-men?fbclid=IwAR3Z1CFG0lid62AR24Ilg6UDrtxzal8Eg5KPk0ehwNvo16zgb-FTsYIFjPw#media-gallery-media-1).

The bar was worn down from years of passionate patronage, wood sticky with the residue of alcohol despite being cleaned weekly, brick walls decorated with coat racks, hanging leather garments, implements of sex and punishment, faded posters, and charging ports for androids. Flashing neon lights reflected off tables and glass, illuminating the masses of people who had gathered, the sea of flesh and fabric that moved fluidly in the semi-darkness. The old blended with the new, and what had once been a bar attended only by a select few now welcomed men, women, androids, and individuals who danced apart from conventions. Synthetic fingers unfurled, grasping at the arms of human partners, spread thighs revealing all kinds of genitals. There were no assumptions here, no defaults to be considered _normal._ People were talking, kissing, drinking, and laughing. A vivid, changing mosaic of leather, flannel, buzzcuts, dyed hair, tattoos, and bodies.

Hank wore an open leather vest, his shoulders and chest bared, skin furred with dark grey hair. Two pinkish scars were seared into the terrain of his torso, stretching outwards from his sternum, cupping the swell of his pecs. A leather cap sat atop his head, tilted low over his brow, giving him a stern, arousingly authoritative look. His grey hair hung down, framing his face. His beard was thick and proudly maintained, freshly trimmed in anticipation for tonight, his jaw mighty and strong. He wore leather pants that fit snugly around his thighs, calves, and ass, heavy boots laced tight and landing upon the floor with purpose.

The crotch of his pants had a circular opening, from which a girthy, rigid cock emerged. The lights of the club danced attractively off its fleshy silicone skin, and it swung as Hank walked. It, along with the whole outfit, had been a Christmas present from Connor- who had apparently been harbouring an authority fetish, and decided to forgo subtlety the moment they started fucking.

Hank held the handle of a leash, leather wrapped around twice around his calloused knuckles. The leash was attached to a collar, which sat so attractively against the smooth throat of his pretty companion.

He walked through the crowds with his chin tilted arrogantly upwards, his jaw set, grinning proudly.

His boy was the prettiest of the bunch.

Connor walked behind him, face ducked down in shy subservience, lashes curling thick over his dark eyes. His temple glowed, a blip of light that shone as they moved through the club. His lips were moist and shiny with strawberry flavoured gloss, begging to be kissed, begging for Hank's cock. His hair was wavy and mussed, curls that felt so soft when Hank grabbed his head and forced his face down lower. He wore a loose, fluttering lingerie top, pink lace stitched so delicately and with such care, pale shoulders creamy beneath rosy patterns. His chest was bare and hairless, the lines of his body continuing uninterrupted to the angle of his hips and the closed circle of his panty waistband.

He'd gotten an upgrade, and now his underwear strained with the weight of a slim, pretty cock. The small of his back swayed as he walked, followed by the swell of his ass, now equipped with an opening Hank could fuck with reckless abandon. They were new and improved, both of them. Hank's cock had sensory functions that allowed him to feel _everything_. He liked his bio junk too, enough that he wanted to keep it, and this new cock allowed him the best of both worlds, removing the pressure of needing to decide. He was as old-fashioned and grumpy about technology as he'd always been, but Connor's presence in his life had opened his mind to new possibilities.

It felt good, no longer denying himself pleasures such as these.

There were tables stationed throughout the club, where people lay and posed in various states of undress, scarlet ass cheeks and moist skin as far as the eye could see. Wall-to-wall, this bar was a palace of debauchery and free, unrestricted self expression. The violence of slapping flesh, sneered words, and snarling faces was matched in kind by the love between partners, the softness with which men pulled their boyfriends close, gentle hands smoothing wounds that had been so willingly received.

Hank gripped the leash tight, pulled it abruptly and without warning, leather tugged taut against that pearl-white throat. Connor choked, staggering forward, a response made all the more authentic and human by the upgrades he'd gotten recently. Now that the question of sentience had been solved and realised by deviance, Connor and his kind were eagerly exploring the potential that their bodies housed. Sensory nodes in his throat gave him the experience of choking, pressure stimulating a combination of panic and euphoria, just like in humans– with fewer deadly consequences. Connor loved to fuck, to feel, to experiment. And Hank loved knowing that they could play _hard._

He swung the leash around, sending Connor stumbling, hands flying out to steady himself against an unoccupied table. It was waist-height, the perfect platform on which to fuck, fist, or degrade a submissive.

"Get up there," he commanded, "whore."

Connor inhaled quietly, like he was shocked by the word he had so specifically requested Hank use. He made his shy, unsteady way up onto the table. Part of it was acting, his eagerness to play the role of a poor, innocent boy, about to be taken and ruined, but he was also helped along by a software update that allowed for reduction in physical prowess. It turned Connor into a meek, softer person. It could only be activated by Hank.

The slender android was soon on all fours, palms against the table, knees pressed together. Panties and smooth ass on full display, the shape of his cock pressed between the beginnings of his thighs. Curls hung down over his eyes, so demure and feminine. Hank slid the lacy garment off his shoulders, undressing him gently. Connor lifted his arms obediently so that Hank could pull the top off him, fold it on the table where it would remain undamaged.

"We good?"

The question was a tradition, a loving custom between them. Connor smirked up at him, vulnerable facade slipping, his usual arrogance showing. Hank returned the grin, nodding at Connor's confirmation.

He then placed the flat of his hand on the small of Connor's back, spread his fingers, sliding his palm up that spine, synthetic imitations of bone shifting when Connor trembled in place. The boy's lashes fluttered as he surrendered to submissive instincts. Hank's touch wandered up, up, between the delicate wings of Connor's shoulder blades, onto the nape of his neck. He hooked two fingers around the collar, pulled at it harshly. Connor's throat clicked with a cut-off breath, his hands balling into fists against the table. Hank's cock tingled with the anticipation of his warmth, the desire to _fuck_. The sensation hummed through his body, propelled by pulses of futuristic arousal. He liked seeing Connor teetering and gasping.

"Look at you," Hank murmured, "So desperate for it."

Connor took shivering, hollow breaths; inhalations that upgrades told him he needed, restricted by the pressure of leather against skin. His cheeks warmed with a pink flush, body flinching as he fought instincts to fight back, fists clenching tighter.

"Pretty little android. You like bein' treated this way, huh?"

"Please," Connor whispered, a sweet little lilt that sparked sympathy in Hank's heart despite his best intentions. He kept hold of the collar, leaning down, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Connor's cheek. His beard scraped against Connor's face. The boy's muscles pulled tense, his gasps faster and more desperate with every second.

"Yeah, you love it," Hank told him, "You love it."

Connor whimpered, the sound rasping and dry. Hank let go of his collar, and Connor gasped deeply, bowing over, forehead against the table, dropping down to lean heavily on his forearms. He stayed there, coughing and panting for air, panties straining even more now. A puddle of synthetic moisture beaded at the head of his cock, dirtying the lace.

Around them, men cast appreciative, sultry glances at the poor boy, hungry for his ass, for his lips, for his body. None of them would dare touch him while Hank was there. This was a safe club. But being watched, having their debauchery broadcasted to a room of eager viewers, turned them both on. Flashing lights coloured Connor's body, his pale complexion otherworldly, almost glowing. Hank reached beneath his waist, grabbing at his crotch. Connor gasped, the breath hitched and nearly frightened, hips jerking into the touch instinctually.

"Dirty slut. You're enjoyin' it."

Connor nodded hurriedly, burying his face in his hands. "Yes, Hank-"

Hank slapped him hard, palm connecting with Connor's ass in a smooth swing. The resulting _crack_ sliced through the air.

"Lieutenant," Connor sobbed, correcting himself, "Lieutenant."

"That's right. Know your place."

Hank climbed up onto the table, kneeling behind Connor, cock already exposed and rigid, a leather-bound dominant who looked all the more authoritative and powerful behind his gloriously vulnerable, mostly-naked, boy. With his hairy chest and his cap, he was the embodiment of a Tom of Finland illustration. The table creaked beneath them, but was guaranteed in its stability. He yanked down Connor's panties. Without hesitating, he slapped Connor's bare ass again, earning a yelp from the poor android. With his underwear crumpled around his knees, he looked even more pitiable.

"This what you thought it'd be like, when you became more human? Huh?"

Connor shook his head, curls bouncing.

"Is it better than you imagined?" Hank slapped him again.

"Yes- Yes, Lieutenant, it is,"

"Do you love this?" Again, his palm connected with Connor's backside. Connor tried to inch away from him, but Hank held his hips still. "Now now, sugar, don't run away."

"But it hurts-"

"Answer my _fuckin'_ question."

"Yes, I love it, I love it,"

"And who owns you?"

"You do, Sir, you do-"

"That's right. I'm your master."

This went on for some time, Hank spanking Connor's ass pink, making the boy squirm and cry. It was part performance, part genuine. The upgrades opened Connor up to a world of new sensations. Hank had wrongfully been convinced, for many years, that androids could only simulate emotion, not actually experience it. But since deviating, Connor was as emotional as any human, even if he expressed it differently. He had needed the tools to feel this, to be eroticised and made raw, but once he had those tools, there was no stopping the robotic boy from getting his greedy little hands on whatever new challenges they could face together. There were layers to him. He wanted to play, transform, experiment, and reacquaint himself with his own personality. This version of him, this simpering submissive, didn't reflect Connor on most days. Just like humans, kink was a space for deviated androids to step away from everyday emotions and into the role of somebody else.

A fantasy that they both enjoyed.

Slickness began to build in Connor's hole, the internal mechanisms of a body made for fucking. He whined, rocking back and forth like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to jump up off the table and flee, or he wanted something far more visceral.

"You turned on, baby boy? Mm?"

Connor groaned. Hank reached for that rosy pink ass, the heel of his hand facing up, fingers following the curved cleft of Connor's ass downward. Connor's breathing hastened incrementally, and he spread his legs, knowing what was expected of him, hungry for it. Hank liked the look of his hand on Connor's most vulnerable body part. He liked his aged, sun-weathered skin, the hair that dusted his forearm and the veins that snaked down toward his knuckles, liked how his touch looked against such a pretty young thing. He knew that Connor wasn't young, not really. But he _was,_ in a funny way. His life measured in years didn't amount to much. He wasn't the same as human men, not innocent in the same way, but he was still learning the rules of this dance. Still figuring out how to tango.

Hank pushed one finger inside him, down to the knuckle.

"This isn't enough for you, is it? Sordid little slut."

Connor seemed to quake. As if ashamed, he didn't reply, blunt nails scraping over the table's surface. Hank was spellbound by the fact that he could do whatever he wanted to him. Anything he chose, any punishment they'd discussed earlier.

Hank curled his finger. Connor groaned.

"Fine. The little whore gets what he wants, eh?"

Hank pulled the digit out. He took the base of his cock in hand, heart leaping at the sensation of his own palm, the fact that he would be able to _feel_ sex from now on. He placed the tip against Connor's hole, watched the boy flinch at the sudden contact.

"Lieutenant, wait," Connor said, voice rising with pretend panic as he spoke the very words they'd agreed on, the very kink he'd been most eager to try, "Wait, I'm not ready, it's too big-"

Hank slammed his cock inside.

Connor wailed, hands flying forward as he scrambled to escape, but Hank grabbed his wrists and held him still, trapping the slender android beneath his bigger body. The men around them watched with hungry eyes and broad smiles, whistling and chuckling at the boy's false reluctance and defilement. Hank growled happily, thrilled at the warm grip of Connor's body, that he could feel every inch of his slick, fleshy channel. This was just like fucking any human. Perhaps even better.

"You like that? Fits so well inside your hole, boy."

Connor moaned helplessly. The sounds he was making were relentless and high-pitched; the cries of a poor, injured pup. Hank had never been more turned on in his life. He stroked Connor's face, brushing hair from his eyes, kissing his cheek. Connor's gaze was glassy and exhilarated, his lips tilted upwards into a tiny smile, a sheen of artificial sweat dampening his cheeks. Hank wanted to ask him whether he was doing okay, whether they were fine to continue, but he committed to the scene. They'd talked about this. They had safewords in place. Besides, software upgrade or no, Connor could quite easily throw him off and crush his bones into dust. This was a game. And Connor wanted to play it just as much as he did.

"Hey, you mind if we watch?"

Hank lifted his head, glanced up at the crowd of men that had begun to gather. He couldn't decide whether he was pissed off that they were getting an eyeful of his boy, or whether he fucking loved that they had a rapt audience. Whatever. It wasn't really up to him.

He inclined his face downwards again, lips against the shell of Connor's ear.

"Orange," he said, murmuring their codeword to pause the roleplay, "You want them to watch, baby?"

Connor hummed, considering it. "Yeah. Make it dirty, Hank."

Hank grinned. "That's Lieutenant to you, kid."

Connor smiled cheekily back. Hank kissed him again, unable to keep from expressing one final show of genuine affection. He really did love the damn android, petulant and sassy as the guy could be.

"Green," Connor confirmed steadily.

"You can watch," he told the gathered men, voice deepening into a cruel cadence once more, "But you can't touch. Don't talk to him, either."

The men all nodded, pulling out their cocks if they weren't already exposed, starting to jerk off eagerly. A woman wandered forward too, hand extended down to touch herself. Hank drew his hips back, dragging his cock almost entirely out from Connor's hole, then promptly shoving back inside, deeper than before. Connor cried out, writhing beneath Hank.

"Wait, Lieutenant, please-"

"You know you love it," Hank crooned, even more motivated to embrace his darker side after their brief romantic intermission, "C'mon, boy, you know you love this cock inside you."

He thrust forward again. And again. And again. All the while, Connor whined and struggled, putting on a show. His smaller body was jolted by the motions, his ass bouncing every time Hank's pelvis collided with his skin. Heat sparked beneath Hank's ribcage, boiling wildly, gazes settling against him like a tangible weight. Shit, he loved being watched. They ought to set something like this up again. He wanted everyone to see him fucking Connor.

"Sir, please... Please, it's so big..."

"Nah. You can take it. I know you love it. You want more, don't you?"

Connor shook his head, whimpering.

"You want these men here to fuck you too, don't you?"

"No, Lieutenant, I-"

"I could tie you up," Hank whispered, "Leave you to be filled by these strangers. Load after load. You'd take it like a champ."

Connor groaned, loud and wild. He sounded thrilled by the idea.

"You like that, hmm? Baby boy?"

"No, I..."

"I don't believe you."

"Just you, Lieutenant, please, you're the only one I want..."

Well, shit. That was a bit too fucking adorable for Hank to handle. But he took it in stride, not breaking character. His breath puffed against Connor's cheek, brutal grunts of enjoyment.

"I own you, android. And you'll take what I give you. If I wanna let these men fuck you, then they'll fuck you. Understand?"

Connor whimpered, but nodded. They both knew that Hank would draw a gun on any person who tried to touch Connor. But the threat was delicious, especially when paired with Connor's rhythmic cries, the slapping sounds of sex as Hank violated him. Fuck. He knew he was going to come soon. He wouldn't last much longer. After the time he'd spent spanking Connor and dirty-talking him, he was approaching the edge of control. Everything was loud, wet, and flavoured with the heady spice of sweat and carnal exertion. Men were fisting their cocks, gazing at Connor with open mouths and wild eyes. A few tables over, a different boy was being fucked, this one human, with waves of blond hair and tear-filled eyes. Further along from him, an androgynous figure was on their back, gender indeterminable, shaved head and angular features a picture of beauty as their partner pounded them from above. Hank was overwhelmed. This was a brave new world. He loved every second of it; the android beneath him, the people around him, the pleasures he'd found once he embraced diversity, moved on from the self-hatred that had poisoned his heart. It all felt so fucking good. There was no bitterness in his soul now. Just a beautiful boy beneath him, a cock extending from his groin, and all the sensations of sex that he'd desired for so many years.

He straightened up, pulling his cock free. Connor whined, but didn't have long to meditate on the emptiness of his body before Hank was grabbing his shoulders and forcibly turning him, slamming him onto his back. Connor gasped up at him, chest rising and falling frantically, hair messy and sticking to his sweaty face, eyes half-lidded, underwear crumpled around his knees. Hank grabbed the panties and ripped them off, forcing Connor's legs apart and shoving himself inside once more. Connor arched up off the table, which rocked violently now as Hank resumed fucking him, staring down at his prey like a wild animal. And what pretty prey Connor was. His delicate lingerie top slipped off the table and fell to the floor in a tragic heap.

"Touch yourself," Hank told him.

Connor, with a wrist made unsteady by the force of Hank's movements, did as he was told. His lips were quivering and his cheeks were flushed. He looked like an angel. Like the prettiest boy that had ever existed. But Hank didn't tell him that. He reached for the collar, unbuckling it then tightening it in an abrupt yank, closing it like a vice around Connor's neck. The boy choked, hands flying up in an attempt to resist, but Hank slapped his cheek hard.

"Get yourself off. Don't you _dare_ try to escape."

With tears beading in his lashes, Connor did as he was told, hand loosely curled around his cock. His eyes began to drift closed as he lost consciousness, but he gave a final, helpless whimper, and then he was bucking beneath Hank, hips jerking into his own hand. A splash of opaquely white liquid dotted his navel. His orgasm was a delight to behold, and he was given no time to adjust. Hank growled, hips pistoning wildly back and forth, fucking Connor so hard that his back had begun to ache. Connor hung limp, head lolling, hovering on the edge of being awake.

"Fuck yeah, fuck, you feel so good, pretty little android slut,"

"Lieut..." Connor began, tongue thick and clumsy, words slurred, "Lieutena... nt..."

"Gonna come inside you, gonna fuckin' spill,"

"...Pl... Please..."

"Fuck, gonna come, gonna come!"

"Hank..." Connor breathed, the syllable tumbling from his mouth, "H... Hank..."

"Fuck! Fuck!"

Hank yelled, body seizing and shuddering. He slammed inside Connor one last time, felt fluid gushing from his synthetic cock, felt dampness blooming inside his pants, the release nobody was ever allowed to see except Connor. He gripped Connor's wrists so hard that he knew he'd be denting bruises into the flesh of a human. There were groans and shouts as their audience climaxed too, a room full of people getting off at the sight of Connor being fucked so furiously.

***

They went through a side door, to one of the bedrooms that the club kept clean and available for aftercare and private parties. Connor didn't need aftercare in the same way that most humans did, because he could more easily separate the intensity of kinky sex from any potentially traumatising emotion, like flipping a switch between scenarios. But he still liked the process of getting clean, snuggling close, and trading slow kisses with Hank. Besides, Hank needed the softness, needed the reassurance of calm touch after their rough play. He loved Connor, and he needed to settle back into their normal, mutual adoration once they were finished. Otherwise he'd feel like a fucking monster.

They decided to take a shower together. Hank undressed, tugging off his leather garments, disengaging and dropping his silicone cock to the floor. In the moisture-clouded mirror, he could see himself, standing in the centre of the ensuite bathroom. His body was strong and proud, shoulders solid, posture steady despite years of policework and the aches and pains that came with getting older. He saw his beard, his lined face, the thick chest hair that continued uninterrupted downwards, blanketing his groin. He didn't mind that there was flatness where once he had wanted the full weight of a penis. He liked what he had, and he liked being touched by his partner. In the mirror, he saw a man; the kind of man he'd always wanted to be, that he'd dreamed of as a child. And he smiled.

Connor was already in the shower, standing beneath the stream, eyes closed as water sluiced down his body. Hank joined him, arms winding around the slender android. His lips brushed Connor's neck in a tender kiss, and Connor tilted his head backward, leaning happily against him.

"You feeling okay?"

"Of course," Connor reassured him.

"I didn't hurt you?"

"Not at all, Hank."

"And you know that I love you?"

"As I love you."

"My handsome boy," Hank praised him, with unimaginable fondness, "My handsome little android."

Connor chuckled. "I do believe you're getting soft, Lieutenant. What will your colleagues say?"

"Fuck 'em," Hank whispered, "You're the only person I give a shit about."

They stood there, cuddling close. Everything was peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, when I was writing this, I played ambient sounds of a nightclub in one tab, and a gay porn video in the other. Set the scene perfectly, lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna turn into a sprawling, smutty, romantic jaunt down gender-fuckery lane.   
>  ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Hank’s bathroom was generally unchanged, though Connor had insisted on a few alterations for the sake of health and an optimal home environment. The walls were still green paint and mustard tiles, the view outside obscured by an opaque curtain, the floor an off-white cream colour. The bath was new, a ceramic pod that Hank could more easily settle into, a hand rail above the taps. The lights overhead were warm or cool alternatively, a number of switches available to choose whatever ambiance felt most appropriate. An indulgence, perhaps, but Connor was being paid a small wage now, and he didn’t need to eat.

The mirror was new, too. A perfect circle, so lacking in scratches or imperfections that it appeared a window to another world. Connor waved his hand smoothly before the mirror, activating it. A halo of light sprung to life, framing the circular installation, illuminating the room and making Connor glow in the darkness. White circles framed each of his pupils, the light reflecting off his eyes.

It was early morning. Outside, the wind howled, snow scattering through the air in waves. Winter had come in all its harshness. Hank was curled up in bed, warm and peaceful, just as he ought to be.

Connor stood in the middle of the silent room, not speaking, not moving. Humans weren’t capable of being this still. Their muscles twitched, their breaths were unintended, and every muscle shifted minusculely without conscious effort on the part of its owner. Connor knew what this room would feel like to a human. Their skin would prickle, fine hairs standing up, shoulders hunching, arms rising to wrap around their ribcage. They would flee this room, back to warmth. Survival instincts.

Connor watched himself in the mirror. He knew he was not human. He knew he was a person.

Beyond that, there was little he could say with confidence.

His face was sculpted and designed, synthetic skin coating a symmetrical skeleton, the same skeleton that walked the earth in hundreds of other bodies. He had made deliberate efforts to separate himself from the others, the creatures with his face and his body. His hair was longer now, dark waves that wound downwards and curled against his bare shoulders. His face was softer, jaw higher, cheeks rounded. He liked himself more this way. The alterations were to his specifications, making him unique, separating himself from the herd. What he was looking for, what guided his desires, he couldn’t say.

Nobody could.

He disengaged his analytics, tried to just _look._ Allow his gaze to travel over the terrain of his body without logic or purpose. It was difficult, to operate without a directive to inform progression.

His collarbone crested a flat, willowy chest. He looked nothing like Hank. He was smooth. Inhuman. His hips were narrow and sturdy, somehow boyish at the same time as being adult in stature. Below the frame of the mirror, his penis, hanging with a strangeness he had come to appreciate. He touched it, hand settling over its smooth shape, thumb tracing the artificial globes below it, finding no wrinkles or imperfections. He watched his reflection move, a slender arm that shifted without urgency, bicep rolling into the gesture. It had taken a while to grow accustomed to the new weight between his legs.

He tilted his head. Considered the line of his jaw, watched the light dance over his features. He tried to figure out who he saw in that mirror. What he saw. What he wanted to see. Was he something more than this body? Something more than the robot they had created? Yes. But what was growing beyond that anonymous foundation? Who was _he?_

He met his own eyes. Stared so intently at himself. Searched the chasm of his mind for a truth he couldn’t get grasp. It wasn’t emptiness he grappled with, not entirely. It was sheer inexperience. There was no roadmap for being a deviated android. Nobody could tell him what living truly was. Nobody could explain what it meant to be a person. Nobody could explain what he was becoming.

He heard a distant sound. Feet against floor, Hank’s tired gait.

“Connor…?”

The android didn’t need to glance over to know what Hank looked like. He was still wearing his grey shirt, his sleep shorts. His eyes were framed by tired, heavy lines, cheeks dusted by stubble that he would shave away, blades refining the boundary of his beard. His shoulders were hunched up high, arms wrapped around his body. Cold. Human. Just as expected.

“I’ll join you for breakfast,” Connor told him, not looking away from the mirror.

“What’re you doin’ at this time of the mornin’, Con? It’s fuckin’ frozen.”

Connor supposed it might look odd, to see your partner standing naked in the bathroom, staring at their own reflection. He turned his head and offered Hank a smile, wanting to reassure him. There it was; the emotion he couldn’t conjure without his human boyfriend’s presence. All his overthinking, all his redundant analysis, and all he’d needed was for Hank to rise in pursuit of a morning coffee.

He strode over to Hank, kissed him quickly.

“Let’s get you warm.”

***

Connor got dressed in shorts and a plain blue t-shirt. The heating groaned to life and began to push cold from the house. Connor made Hank bacon and eggs, brewed him fresh coffee. Hank dove upon the meal with just as much eagerness as he had hundreds of times previously. He bit into the bacon, sighing happily at the salty taste. Connor took a seat beside him at the kitchen table.

“It’s delicious.”

The sleepy, drawling tone of Hank’s voice made Connor feel happy. At least, he thought this was happiness. It was as happy as he’d ever felt. When Hank expressed joy, Connor felt that he had achieved some objective. And there was a blip of something else too, a sensation that had only appeared following his deviation.

Hank leaned over and kissed Connor’s cheek, lips shiny with bacon grease. Connor smiled, wiping the moisture off. He knew how simple things were from Hank’s perspective. He was in a relationship with an android, not a human. That was the extent of it. Connor had never taken the time to elaborate on the vantage point of his own, complex identity. He felt that now was as opportune a moment as any.

As if able to sense his partner’s musings, Hank leaned back into his own seat, looking thoughtfully at Connor before putting down his cutlery. He tucked a wave of hair behind Connor’s pale ear, brushing the pad of his thumb over Connor’s temple.

“You’ve been different, lately,” Hank murmured, “Like you're changin' somehow, even more than what's on the outside.”

It wasn’t an accusation, or a declaration of worry. Connor wasn’t sure how to proceed. He decided to just tell the truth.

“Yes,” he replied, “You’re right.”

Even before software upgrades that expanded his emotional range, deviation had caused him to acquaint Hank’s every emotional response with a disproportionate amount of attention, or so his original specifications would’ve dictated. He watched Hank’s face carefully, waiting for any signs of anxiety or anger.

“Do you mind, that I am… changing?”

“Nah,” Hank answered carefully, folding his hands in his lap and not yet picking up his cutlery, “Just wanna know what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Connor swallowed nervously. Or, he performed the gestural equivalent to swallowing, which had been made available via enhancements to emotional expression and anatomical structures. Movements like these allowed a visible communication of his internal emotions. Otherwise he’d be left without the ability to show everything he felt, and Hank would have to work much harder to connect with him.

He reached over, seeking the warmth of a steady grip. Hank took his hand smoothly, calmly.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on, sugar.”

That softly-spoken pet name nestled itself warmly in Connor’s awareness. Calmed him.

“I don’t…”

Hank waited patiently for him to continue.

“I don’t feel like anything.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. The inside of Connor’s head was static and confusion, text glitching before his gaze as he tried to find a way through this challenge. He squeezed his eyes shut and focussed on the foundations of what he’d learned.

“They made me a man, gave me this voice. Gave me a uniform. I… do not fit into that. I am not that thing they made me into. But I am still Connor. The difficulty is that I need to figure out who Connor _is_. Who I am. The boundaries of human expression don’t seem to fit.”

“…I s’pose it would be weird. Suddenly bein’ deviant. Nobody ever planned for that, when they made folks like you.”

Connor opened his eyes. Hank had spoken the words with hesitant understanding, and no small amount of love. His face was soft with a kind smile.

“Can you tell me more ‘bout what you feel, darlin’? So that I understand?”

Connor licked at his lips. Another new movement he’d come to appreciate, one that came naturally in moments of absent-minded thought.

“You grew up with the internal conviction that you were a man, inside. You remedied this misalignment through surgery and hormone replacement therapy. There is a scientific cause for your identity, and also a theory of the soul. Many believe their transgenderism is a matter of the heart, the soul of a person. Others focus purely on the scientific aspect. For every person, there is a unique truth, a complex fabric of identity woven by so many factors.”

Hank shrugged. “Always thought it was a bit of both, personally. Science and the soul.”

“There is no science to explain what I am,” Connor continued, “Not yet. I cannot even rely on matters of the soul, either, because there is no indication that machines have souls.”

That earned him a scoffed laugh, and a shake of Hank’s head. “You have a fuckin’ soul, Con. I see it in your eyes, for fuck’s sake. You’re sentient.”

“Be that as it may,” Connor conceded, “Gender is not an easy question to solve for androids. I was born without one, as I was never supposed to develop enough to need one. The fact I look like a man is because of the demographic my creators intended to emulate. The perfect police droid, apparently. There are no components in my system that designate a gendered response to stimuli.”

“…So, what is it you’re sayin'?”

“I do not feel like a man.”

“Do you feel like a woman?”

“No.”

Hank sat back in his chair. He drew one hand through his grey hair, sighing slowly. Connor nervously watched him, waiting for a response he felt incapable of predicting. Outside, the wind still howled. Hank's breakfast was losing its warmth. Connor noted that they'd likely have to heat it up if this conversation went on too long.

“There are people like that, y’know,” Hank told him, “Humans that are in-between. Have been for a long while, had different names in different cultures. Brains ain’t simple machines. Neither are souls. I was always gonna become a man, but for some, the path ain’t so narrow.”

“Yes, I’ve done ample research. I am aware of non-binary humans.”

“D’you reckon that’s you? Someone in-between?”

Connor paused, considering that, as he had been for so very long. “I am still figuring out what I am. I do not want to lie to you, Hank, and… pretend to some great wisdom. It’s still very new. I don’t know that I have the tools to define myself yet.”

“That’s okay.” Hank shifted his chair closer so that he could drape an arm over Connor’s shoulders, lean against him, nuzzle his face. “Hey, that’s fine. Fuck knows I’ve been somewhere similar, though obviously your deal is nothin’ like mine. I just wanna know what I can do, baby. You want me to talk differently ‘bout you?”

“Changing pronouns won’t be necessary,” Connor declared, glad he could at least state that, “I understand that gender dysphoria and misalignment in non-binary humans often necessitates different language, but I don’t need that. At least, not yet.”

“Well,” Hank kissed his cheek again, lips dry now, “You just let me know.”

“Would you adjust to it?”

“What, calling you 'they'?”

“For example, yes.”

“Yeah, it’d be fine. Be a bit fuckin’ hypocritical if I took issue with it, wouldn’t you reckon?”

“Taking issue with something is not the same as adjusting to it.”

“Look, I might fuck up, but I'll always try not to,” Hank laughed quietly at himself, “I’ll always try. What else is there? D’you wanna be called different things?”

“I do like it when you call me your boy,” Connor admitted softly, “Playing with the roles of human expression is not upsetting for me. Just because I’m outside them doesn’t mean I reject them entirely. Toying with language feels… interesting. Like I can somehow find myself between all those gendered indicators.”

Hank nodded, pursing his lips. “You want me to call you my girl?”

Connor smiled. “It does have a feminine connotations I enjoy.”

“Thought you might like somethin’ like that,” Hank admitted, toying with Connor’s hair, “Noticed you changing in that direction lately. Couldn’t place it. Kinda androgynous, kinda boyish, kinda girlish. Bit of everythin’. Guess it’s all on the cards for an android, huh? No rules.”

“Only one,” Connor whispered.

“And what’s that?”

“I want to be someone you can love.”

Hank fell silent. He pulled away from Connor, taking his hands gently, turning the android to face him. His expression had hardened, lips pressed together into a stressed line.

“Listen to me,” he said slowly, “You gotta promise that you won’t resist any changes just ‘cause you’re worried ‘bout what I think. I don’t give a shit what you want me to call you, what you wanna wear, what name you take. I just want _you._ Maybe I had a stricter view of the world, once. Fuck that, a’ight? Fuck all the rules. Just do what you need to. If you don’t fit with everyone else, that’s fine. You fit with me. Right here,” he squeezed Connor’s hands, “You fit right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This development was somewhat inspired by [Chloe Aftel's portrait](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/0ce792_f06a03a2d0964b30a5adc6e20c05122a~mv2_d_2248_1294_s_2.png) of a non-binary person named Edie, and [Laurence's non-binary series](https://www.laurencephilomene.com/nonbinary). Further than that, though, this just feels like a really fluid and natural direction to take Connor!  
> .  
> .  
> Most of my trans AU fics are very binary, but I spent a lot of time in the non-binary community while I was trying to figure myself out. I value that period in my life so much, and I learned a lot about non-binary people too! Though I eventually moved on, because my identity is ultimately that of a trans male, I have close non-binary friends who deserve representation too.  
> .  
> .  
> I wanna explore both FTM!Hank and NB!Connor in this story! And I want to fuck around with the very concept of gender ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Bass thudded through them both. The room was alive, more androids than humans, the line between humanity and robotics more blurred than ever. It was like being shut into an electric coffin, filled with flesh and light, movement ceaseless at the same time as everybody appeared to be standing still. The moment they had crossed through the entrance, and the door had closed behind them, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Hank was dressed down, no leather clothes this time. He wore a black top, sleeveless and loose, an old insignia faded against his chest. His jeans were clouded from dust and scuffed, boots tied lazily, extra lengths of shoestring pulled around his calves. His grey hair hung on either side of his face, strands sticking to his forehead as sweat built from all the dancing.

Connor moved against him, a flowing garment simmering down their body, following the lines of their form. Things had changed; language previously unexplored had become commonplace, expected, comfortable. Breath escaped Hank’s lips in a heavy hush, caught by the press of soft pink lips. The pair were bound in this space, flailing in a mess of luminescence and sound, elbows and feet bumping other dancers, brushing up against lives they would never know.

Connor was the same person Hank had fallen for. Part of them flirted with the conventions they’d been born into, the role intended for them, the short-haired policeman with lethargic apathy for anything outside of his directive. But they were so much more than that, too. An evolving puzzle that Hank wanted to spend the rest of his life exploring. Memories floated on the precipice of their awareness, shared with Hank in whispers as they lay in bed; a fish, flapping pitifully on the floor as it neared death, weak body so silky and fragile against the synthetic clasp of Connor’s palm. The beginning of a story. An unnecessary action, outside of any directive. An indicator of deviation.

He reached down, sliding his palms against Connor’s ass, clutching the plumpness of their body, feeling them sway against him. He wanted to get out of here, press Connor into a mattress and feel them quiver. But the party prolonged the anticipation, dazed him with its relentless pace, the inhabitants of this place growing and melding, the drugged-up circuitry of the city clustering into one mesh of sensation.

Connor leaned into him, inclining their face into Hank’s neck, mouth sucking at his skin. Hank exhaled, eyelids fluttering briefly, hips jumping as a pulse of arousal shot through his body. Over Connor’s shoulder, he saw an android writhing on a table, legs spread to make way for the touch of another. He saw bright eyes and flashes of skin, strobing lights, bare feet twirling. An aqueous film crept over them all, a mist that caught the lights and turned them three-dimensional, pillars of colour strung through the thick air.

Connor slanted their hips against Hank, curving their body sinuously as they dragged their teeth over Hank’s neck. Hank groaned.

“Fuck, Connor. Let’s go home.”

In true testament to Connor's cheekiness, Hank felt the tug of a smirk against his skin.

***

The silence of Hank’s house was deafening, Hank’s ears ringing from the volume of the club. Alcohol warmed him, turning his cheeks pink and his face hot to the touch. He staggered inside and patted Sumo, who gave them a tired _woof_ in greeting, before going straight back to sleep. Connor sauntered through mundane domesticity with just as much brilliance as they always did, untying their dress, strands of fabric between their elegant fingers. The garment fell to the floor, revealing the curves of their pale form as they walked away. Black hair cascaded down their back, untied and glorious.

"You ain't gonna pick that up?"

Connor glanced over their shoulder, lashes dipping down as they smiled. Hank grinned back at them, adoring this game, thrilled at Connor's petulance. He went over and grabbed it up off the floor, folding it neatly against his arm, thinking about the first time Connor had set foot in this place. Even back then, Connor had brightened the rooms, moving with such ease and confidence. Hank had liked the sight of Connor in his bedroom, in his bathroom. He glanced over to the place where the android had found him. He remembered the sting of slap fondly, the burst of pain and awareness that had snapped him back into reality. He didn't think about bullets anymore.

He remembered the smile of approval Connor had given him when he'd emerged from his bedroom, wearing the outfit Connor had chosen. How distant those days seemed now.

Hank continued into the bedroom, hovering in the doorway and considering- for a sweet, lingering moment– the sight that awaited him. Connor was leaned against the headboard of the bed, head tilted back, hand between their legs. Hank's gaze followed the shape of them downwards, the flatness of their chest, the slender bend of their arms, a wrist that turned as they touched themselves. He blew out a long breath, eyebrows raising.

"Fuck me," he exclaimed, "D'you ever get less beautiful?"

Connor smiled, "Do you?"

Hank scoffed at the idea that he could be considered beautiful, though there was no irony in Connor's tone, and the compliment made him feel even warmer than the alcohol. He walked to the cupboard, placing Connor's dress carefully down on a shelf.

"Such care," Connor observed in a quiet murmur, "You treat my things with a great deal of love."

"Of course."

"And your own with such carelessness."

Hank laughed, pulling off his sleeveless top, hands dropping to unzip his fly. "My shit is way less important than yours."

"I would dispute that, Lieutenant."

"Of course you would," Hank replied, stooping to tug off his pants, undo his boots, "You always do."

"Mm," Connor hummed, "And I always will."

Undressed now, Hank climbed onto the bed with his lover, a knee either side of Connor's body, denting the mattress. Connor's hands settled against his thighs, nails drawing faint lines across his skin, scratches that faded almost immediately beneath thick grey hairs. Hank kissed them, ducking his face down so that their mouths could meet in hunger. This was better than the clubs and the bars, he had decided. Those places couldn't hold a candle to the sensation of being at home, being alone here.

"You've chosen not to wear your favoured prosthetic," Connor noted, in a way that made Hank feel safe and not judged, "How would you like me to touch you, tonight?"

Hank had been thinking about that. He took Connor's hand, guided their touch towards his most sacred place, a body part he had feared, hated, and hidden for so many bitter years. Connor touched him, and Hank groaned, swaying his waist, bucking into the pinching grip of a thumb and forefinger.

"I love your cock," Connor whispered, making Hank shiver, "The one you were born with. The one you grew yourself."

"Yeah?" Hank breathed the question, wrapping both arms around Connor's shoulders, pulling their bodies closer, "I like you touching me."

"I will love you, no matter your anatomy," Connor continued, their heartfelt declarations amounting to sinfully erotic dirty talk, "I will touch you and fuck you and suck you-"

"Jesus, Connor,"

"But this, particularly, I love. Feeling you, here. Just us. Just your body."

"I love it too," Hank confessed, arousal building and blooming and bleeding through him, helped along by alcohol, "I love bein' able to handle this sometimes, love knowin' you see me as a man,"

"Always, Hank. Always."

Connor continued to touch him, hand moving slowly at first, and then faster, stroking him into voiceless exhilaration. Hank eventually climaxed, cuddling Connor close, grunting loudly, the gruff sound devolving into a broken whine. Once it was over, he collapsed forward, forehead against the headboard of the bed, Connor's hand in his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains penetration, with bottom!Hank, but no feminising language is used to describe his anatomy ♡ Proceed with caution, you know your dysphoria better than anybody else!

Hank’s cheek was smushed against the mattress, his lips parted, one eye closed against the sheets. He’d tied his hair back, grey ponytail trailing over the uppermost knot of his spine. A soft nose drew brushstrokes of touch up and down his neck, accompanied by the wet drag of a tongue. Hank’s hands flexed loosely, movements dulled by the fog of lust, the overwhelming sensation of being so vulnerable. His knees were folded beneath him, back and thighs aching, but it felt good. Being like this felt good. Once, it had been frightening, when his body was still a stranger, when he’d not been believed to be a man at all.

But now, he could feel his beard dragging against fabric, feel areas of numbness over his ribs where flesh had been cut to complete his transformation, a truth pursued to the fullest extent. All the work had been done. All the fighting was over.

Now, he could just _be._

Connor was inside him, long and solid, curving deep where Hank let nobody else fuck him. Pressure was hitting against a point beneath his belly, and he let his hand drift downwards, palm pressing against skin, stroking a bulging weight. Feeling Connor moving that way, feeling the penetration of his body in more ways than one, was... intense.

“You feel so amazing, Hank.”

Connor’s words tasted like honey, genuine and soft and so unbearably uncomplicated that Hank almost ached with it. He groaned, spreading his fingers against his belly, loving the catch of thick hair as passionately as he did the yielding of his hole, the slickness within that spilled outward. It had taken him years to reach a place of peace, a confidence that couldn’t be shattered by acts of love.

His lips curled tighter in a smile, until eventually he yawned. Connor laughed.

“You’re tired, Lieutenant?”

“Still havin’ a good time,” Hank slurred sleepily, the slapping of skin uninterrupted, his head lolling somewhat as Connor continued to fuck him, “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” Connor purred, the motion of their hips continuing.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Hank breathed, arching his back, the length of his inner thighs straining as he rocked backwards onto forceful thrusts, “Humans get tired at night, it’s an occupational hazard. Ah, fuck, yeah. Do that again.”

Connor angled their thrusts upward, the tip of their cock finding a newly sensitive spot, making Hank keen loudly. He was always amazed at the nuance of his body, all the hidden pleasures he’d been denying himself for so long. The knowledge that he could feel these things while still being a man had freed him. Allowed him access to this happiness.

Slender fingers took hold of Hank’s hips. He sensed what was about to come, and felt a jump of heat in his chest, a shuddering willingness.

“Yeah, darlin’,” he gasped, “Give it to me, give it to me,”

Connor did.

Hank's hands skidded over the sheets, searching for stability, the sheets crumpling between his fingers. He lifted himself up, straightening his arms, a position that hurt his back less. Connor fucked him hard, their android strength evident in moments like these, as they pulled Hank backward at the same time as they shoved brutally forward. Hank's breath caught, hitching and unsteady, wet sounds puncturing the air, filthy beyond what he'd have ever expected from his body before.

"Would you like me to touch you? I sense that you're close, Hank."

"Fuck- Connor, yeah, please, please touch me-"

Hank just knew there was a smile on their face, knew that his stuttering enthusiasm was endearing beyond description for the android. Fingers were on him quickly, forearm bumping against his waist as Connor continued to move so violently inside him. Their touch was deliberate and knowing. They knew exactly what felt good. Knew where to press and squeeze. The sex had Hank breathless and shaking, sated with the girth and the hardness, the hunger of his soul fulfilled by what went beyond the physical. He loved how his body opened to allow the entrance of another, loved Connor against him instead of some sweating, grunting, cruel buffoon who would offer interrogating stares and inappropriate questions. Hank's manhood was safe with his pretty android. White synthetic flesh disappeared inside him repeatedly, pushed in and out, and it was so welcomed. Every strained squirm he gave moved muscle and sinew taut, had him teetering on his hands and knees, jolted in place, stray hairs falling down his brow and getting in his eyes.

"Listen to you," Connor whispered, "So wanton."

Hank groaned.

"Do you like being called a slut, Hank? We've never discussed it at length."

Hank's cheeks warmed. Connor pushed deep inside him; a slow, punishing depth that inched him closer to climaxing. A sound, helpless and little, escaped Hank.

"Would you like me to call you my whore, Lieutenant?"

"Fuck, Connor, fuck, christ," Hank said, words tumbling free in a senseless rush, "Yeah, sure, fuck, why not, _fuck_ ,"

"My whore," Connor praised him deviously, leaning down to press the length of their chest against Hank's back, "My gorgeous man, my handsome beast,"

"Fuck, fuck,"

"I will have you like this always, my dear. Would you like me to fuck you at work?"

"Connor, what the fuck are you," Hank laughed, senseless with arousal, so turned on he was almost exasperated by it, "Fuck, where is this coming from, you're so goddamn-"

"We could do it in the bathroom," Connor proposed with no hint of irony in their tone, "I could press you up against the sinks, or you me. Which would you prefer?"

"I- I don't know, _fuck,"_

"I would like to fuck you there, Hank. Ruin you so intimately. Let everybody know that you belong to me." Connor tugged on his hair, biting at his neck like they wanted to _own_ him, "It turns me on."

"It- It turns you on?"

"Yes, Hank."

The thought of that, of Connor being aroused by his defilement, had Hank bending over and yelling, release coming with an explosion of emotion, choking at the sheer enormity of it all. Connor moaned too, a sound that Hank managed to perceive despite floating somewhere very far away from reality, mind disconnected and fuzzy.

"Coming inside you," Connor murmured, "Hank, I'm coming inside you...!"

White fluid, a thick imitation of human release, spilled hotly inside Hank, drips escaping the clutch of his hole and making their ticklish way down the inside of his legs. He collapsed down onto the mattress, quivering, splatters of seed moistening the fabric against his flesh. Connor nuzzled against his back, still so deep inside, cock hard as it would remain until Connor decided they were done. The knowledge that they could continue fucking Hank beyond one orgasm made him lightheaded from the possibilities that brought, but he decided that was an indulgence for another day.

For now, the pair lay there, and breathed.


End file.
